Pawn takes King
by Annie P
Summary: Harry has been naving nightmares and visions of Voldimort. Then things get odd... HP/SS slash pair eventually, though at the moment he's in his fifth year. If you read, I'd appreciate fb. ^_^
1. Prologue A voice in the air

Title: Pawn takes King  
  
Author: KC  
  
Rating: R (for imagery later on, and possibly slash) - this chapter is rated PG-13.  
  
Couplings: Harry/Snape(? If they do end up together, it'll be a bit. Though you may see 'hints'.)  
  
Content: Angst/Romance(?)  
  
Disclaimer: All characters belong to J.K. Rowling. I claim no profit from this story.   
  
Notes: This...is odd. I don't know where it came from, but it's taken up residence. I currently am writing about three other fics also, though, so updates won't have an official time or anything.  
  
  
  
  
PROLOGUE-   
  
//'Bishop takes pawn. Really, you aren't even trying, are you?'  
  
He looked around, but he couldn't see where the voice was coming from through the almost-forest of chess pieces. He thought for a minute that it resembled McGonagal's giant set from his first year, but the thought was quickly disregarded. Those chess pieces had been...forbidding. They didn't look actively cruel but they did their job of warning the player that this wouldn't be easy. No, this new set wasn't anything any professor of his, pardoning, perhaps, Snape, would've willingly thought up.   
  
The pieces were alien. Recognizable as their part, but just slightly off. Odd. The pawns that normally resembled foot soldiers were still humanoid, but had somehow become more...canine...in aspect. They had fur over skin and muzzles where their mouth and noses should be. Their eyes were oddly bright, reflecting knives that Harry couldn't see anywhere but in their gaze. And instead of spears or swords or anything that would make sense, they carried what looked like a puzzle piece each.  
  
The knights were next in his line of sight, and he winced slightly at the not-quite-right configuration. Where before, they had resembled literal knights and chargers rearing to defend, not they seemed to be a mixture of abstract shapes thrown together and squashed into resembling their old shape. They were sharp edged, like instead of a normal person, full and three dimensional, they were made of paper. His hands suddenly jumped in pain as he was reminded of every paper cut he'd ever received before the pain faded to a dull ache.  
  
The Bishops looked relatively normal...almost. They looked like dignified older men who were about to condemn someone who most certainly deserved it to a lifetime of pain and humiliation. And that they liked the idea. Their hands were the only inhuman parts on either, but they were so eye catching that they didn't need anything else to be truly horrific. The left hands were obviously infected with...something. They looked extremely unhealthy, at any rate. Obviously and outrageously bloated, as if the bones had been taken out and replaced with puss and the blood had thickened. These were reaching out, as if to grab whoever they were condemning, and Harry felt his stomach turn at the idea of those infected hands touching anyone... But even so, they were better than the right hands. They were skeletal. Literally. They were bones with little strings on muscle and vein still attached. They seemed to be in a constant state of decay and the air around the right hands was thick with what looked like fumes, and they were pointing directly at him. The faces of the pieces were staring at him and their disapproving, sickly excited expressions didn't sit well with him and he moved on.  
  
The rooks were still towers, though these too had changed. These rooks were decidedly sinister, tattered banners flying and dark clouds gathered to the tower peaks and rocky, deceiving harbors at the bases added to the bleak depression that surrounded the fortresses.  
  
The Queen and the King...they seemed like the most normal pieces on the board until you reached the faces, that is. They didn't have one. Where their faces should've been, they had blank slates, almost. There was the faintest impression of features, but the only thing discernible were two hole where the eyes should have been. He found he couldn't look away from them, and it seemed he could just barely make out flecks of something in their depths... He really wanted to look away, and he didn't know why. The features were becoming clearer and he just knew that something horrible would happen if they formed completely. He really wanted to look away.  
  
'Well, are you going to make your move, or are you forfeiting? I wouldn't blame you if you did, you know. In fact, it'd be easier on both of us.'  
  
'I don't understand...' He couldn't look away from the faceless Queen despite wanting to with everything he had and he could just now start to make out a mouth... The voice was still coming from somewhere he couldn't see, and all he really wanted to do was look away. Why couldn't he look away?   
  
'Well, of course you don't. Too early in the game for that. Are you going to make your move any time soon?'  
  
'I...' His mouth felt sticky, and he had an overwhelming after taste of clover honey... The Queens face was almost half formed and there was a thick liquid slowly dripping down his back. The smell of honey suddenly overpowered him.//  
  
Harry woke up gasping, faintly nauseous and shivering uncontrollably. 


	2. Chapter One Home, again, home, again

CHAPTER ONE-   
  
Harry pushed his hair out of his face and the sigh turned into a yawn. He hadn't gotten a decent night of sleep all summer, whether it was guilt over the Third Task or nightmares about the Third Task or being made forcibly aware of Voldemort's actions every other week or so. It was always something... and the dream he'd had last night had completely wiped him out. He had the feeling he looked like one of those starving, sleep deprived children on muggle relief posters, just a little older and wearing baggier clothes.   
  
He yawned again and tilted his head back against the wall of the compartment. His uncle had had an early business meeting in London and had reluctantly brought Harry along so he could meet his train. He'd been on platform 9 3/4 for an hour before the Hogwarts express had arrived. There had been some disturbing people loitering around the station. They hadn't done anything while he'd been there, but the looks on their faces...well, he hadn't taken the time to try and sleep and the noise hadn't been the reason why.  
  
Now he was on the express, in the usual compartment, and he felt so run down he couldn't help stretching out on the seat and falling asleep.  
  
//'Kill the spare.'  
  
No! Don't hurt him, this isn't his fault!  
  
'We know...it's yours. Now...'  
  
No, please! Please, I'll do anything, just don't hurt him... God, Cedric, I'm sorry...  
  
'Oh, I see... interesting predicament you're in, brother, but really, a pawn isn't such a sacrifice in the grand scheme of things...if you make the loss count.'  
  
He wanted to protest but the taste of honey was thick and sour sweet in the back of his throat.//  
  
"Harry!"  
  
He heard his name through the fog over his mind and the smell of honey started to fade.  
  
"What's the matter, Weasley? Something wrong with the boy wonder?"  
  
The smell suddenly rushed back up and he was drowning in it, throat itching and overwhelmed with the sickly sweet aftertaste.  
  
"Stuff it, Malfoy! Harry, wake up!"  
  
"Language, Mr. Weasley. Take care Gryffindor doesn't start the term with a negative number of points."  
  
The cool, ice-edged tones cut through the honey, but when something jarred him he wasn't completely aware and he rolled to the left, hit the floor and had his wand out before he'd opened his eyes completely. When he did the wand lowered and he collapsed against the seat, annoyance and apprehension foremost in his exhausted brain. Brilliant, he thought, rubbing his temples, not only am I loosing my bloody mind, I just threatened a teacher by accident. God hates me.   
  
"Harry?"  
  
He winced at the hesitant tone and tried to smile reassuringly at Hermione. "Sorry...bad dreams." He tried not to think about his teacher and his...Malfoy, for want of a better term, standing just to the side of the car, as they had obviously been for at least part of his dream. He wondered if this had been one of his louder ones. "Did I scream?"  
  
"Er...only a bit." Ron said, calming down at Harry's somewhat normal tone.  
  
"Oh...that's good then. I must've only disturbed a few people, then, and not the whole train." Ron, oddly, did not look comforted. Neither did Hermione, come to think of it.  
  
"Yes, and I happen to be one of those people, Mr. Potter. In the future, please do try and keep it down."   
  
Snape's voice, despite the fact that he was vaguely sure he had been insulted in some way by it, brought an odd wave of relief and Harry sighed, eyes sliding half shut. He wanted to ask Snape to say something else, even insult him, he didn't care. He just wanted to stay relaxed. Instead, "Yes, professor." he murmured tiredly, and wondered when his life had gotten so complicated. He swallowed, trying to get rid of the thick taste of honey. 


	3. Chapter Two Sacrifice or gambit

CHAPTER TWO-   
  
"You sure you're all right, Harry?"  
  
Harry sighed, trying not to look either of his very concerned friends in the eye. Hermione was easy, as she had pulled a book she thought might help Harry decrease his nightmares out and was scanning it for useful details. "Yes, Ron...just tired. You know," Almost unwillingly, his right hand reached up to brush his scar. "bad dreams."  
  
Ron, fortunately, didn't notice. He was too busy watching the giant squid wave cheerfully to a second year. "Boy, do I know," He said distractedly, trying to work out how many truffles he could sneak back to the Gryffindor commons without Filch or McGonogal taking them. Half his mind on trying to remember exactly how many extra pockets the robe he was wearing had (courtesy of Fred or George), he continued the conversation with only a portion of concentration. "Kept having this dream over the summer... A Blast-ended Skrewt was chasing me with my Divination homework, yelling about how I needed to be more open to the mystic forces..."  
  
Harry nodded, muttered something he hoped sounded agreeable and slowed down, dragging his feet and trying not to gag from the honey he could still taste. He'd eaten three chocolate frogs and a pumpkin pasty, and he still tasted decaying clovers. While he was looking around, feeling happy to be back in the familiar welcoming halls, despite his dreams and the weird taste in his mouth. He tried to figure out his reaction to Snape.   
  
"Yes, I realize this. I also know that you will do the right thing, old friend. You are an honorable man."  
  
Harry paused a moment when The Headmasters voice floated from one of the less used halls in the Great Hall. Why was he talking to someone so seriously, so early in the school year? Why did he sound so tired? Harry walked slowly down the side hall, sliding into an empty class where he could still hear Dumbledore. He couldn't quite stifle another yawn and leaned against the wall.  
  
"Albus... I have never doubted your power, or your integrity, but it is times like this, and words like that, that make me doubt your sanity. I will try."  
  
Snape... Harry yawned again and reflected that the potions professor really did have a nice voice. He rather liked the way he was feeling, as well... He hadn't felt this honestly tired in ages. Usually, he was exhausted from lack of sleep and too little food. God, he could fall sleep right here. Must be coming back to Hogwarts.  
  
"I know you will, my friend. And my confidence in you has never been shaken. I must also thank you for joining the students on their way to the school... It would have been disastrous if they had been attacked...and thank you, for making sure Harry-"  
  
"It was nothing, Albus."  
  
He was sliding slowly down the wall, eyes closing and his body, that had a mind of it's own apparently, curling up. Robes pulled around his body, and he reflected that he must be tired. The words that had been so clear a moment ago were simple murmurs now. A comforting drone. Snape really did have a nice voice, he later remembered as his last thought.  
  
//'Oh...how do you want it, and what- oh, hello. Didn't expect to see you back so soon...couldn't resist the call, eh?'  
  
'What...who are you?' He couldn't see anything through the giant chess pieces.  
  
'Ah, brother, if you don't know, how can I tell you? By the way, interesting dream...that Cedric fellow was quite attractive, in an about to be killed kind of way.'   
  
'What?' He made the mistake of looking over the chess pieces again and just escaped being trapped in the queens gaze. Feeling like his chest was on fire, he turned his back to the hard-eyed pieces. He was surprised to find an entire new set of pieces behind him.  
  
The pawns were mostly blank, faces, bodies and all, but not like the other King or Queen. More like a blank sheet of paper. There were two pieces he recognized right off, though, and he wondered angrily why they were situated as pawns. Neither Ron or Hermione were pawns.   
  
'Oh, but they are, brother... Think about it.'  
  
He wanted to glare, but he had no one to glare at. He still didn't know where the voice was coming from. He looked back at what the pawns and wondered why there were only seven. There was a scent of something rotting in the air. Something bumped into his foot. When he looked down, he almost threw up. The top half of Cedric Diggory's head rocked gently against his shoe, eyes staring up at him with the remembered shocked expression. The smell of decay was strangely sweet.//  
  
"Mr. Potter! I am beginning to wonder if you are narcoleptic."  
  
Harry startled awake, but not aware. Voice...Snape's voice. Snape had a nice voice. The voice was keeping away the weird smell and, god, he was so tired... "Professor...?"   
  
"Yes, Mr.. Potter, I am a professor, and you are a student who should be in the Gryffindor commons."  
  
Hands jostling him, trying to pull him out of an almost comfortable haze and he groaned slightly in protest, curling farther into the corner. "Don't want to go...s'tired...never get any sleep...blasted dreams." A thought broke through the sleep-deprived fog in his mind. "Professor, I need to speak with the Headmaster." He forced out, though his mouth was cottony and tasted foul with honey. He tried to get to his feet, but his legs had fallen asleep after so long in the same position and he stumbled into Snape. He looked up into dark eyes and wondered where the nightmare had gone. His head felt...like it was floating ten feet above his body. He knew he needed to see the Headmaster. "Dumbledore..."  
  
"You are, more often than not, entirely too much trouble, Mr.. Potter."   
  
Arms picking him up and he blinked, surprise almost clearing out his head, before the exhaustion slammed back with a vengeance. And a series of yawns that left his jaw cracking. He pressed his face against a shoulder that smelled vaguely of wolfsbane and, oddly enough, lemon. It was a nice smell. No choking honey in sight. "Yes, professor..." He mumbled into the robe.  
  
Silence, broken only by the sound footsteps, almost lulled Harry back to sleep, but the last nightmare was so fresh in his mind that he was able to resist the urge. "Professor?"  
  
"*What* now, Potter? We are going to the Headmasters office, as you oh, so coherently communicated earlier."  
  
"Yeah." He ignored the insults to his verbal skills and concentrated on the voice. "Can't go back to sleep without the dreams. Don't want to see his eyes again." His stomach turned and his eyes watered and he inhaled deeply. The lemon and wolfsbane soothed his trembling stomach before he could vomit or cry on his potions professor. He needed to stop thinking now. This was just too confusing. "Could you talk, professor?" Silence greeted his request and he had to inhale the lemon scent again to keep from crying. "Please?"  
  
He heard a deep sigh, and then a mutter that sounded something like 'definitely more trouble than you're worth' before Snape started outlining the years syllabus for potions. 


	4. Chapter Three Staring in the looking g...

CHAPTER THREE-   
  
He became aware of more than the oddly comforting murmur when it stopped and the arms around him loosened. He muttered in protest but after a few moments for his brain to catch up with him, he let go. He still felt oddly detached, but he was semi-aware now. He tried to collect his scattered wits.  
  
"Where did you find him?"  
  
"An old Defense room. He shows signs of extreme exhaustion."  
  
"Ah...has he said anything?"  
  
"Nothing that made any sense after he conveyed a need to see you."  
  
Harry blinked, finally awake enough to remember what he needed to speak to Dumbledore about. "I get visions." He licked his lips and turned his head slowly when Fawkes made a low sound. He held out a hand and the Phoenix, not quite bald, allowed him to stroke what remained of the crest. He spoke looking at the bird, instead of the two staring men.   
  
"Not long before Voldemort does something, I get hit with what he's thinking. Gen'raly about whatever attack he's planned. Would've wrote to you, but even if I could've freed Hedwig, by the time she got here it would've been too late." He looked up, vague ideas of assuring the Headmaster forcing him to add, "I us'ly get a pretty good idea of what he's gonna do...he likes to plan out the tortures on a pers'nal basis, so we'll know who to protect first." His entire body felt leaden, even his head... Which was odd, as it still felt detached at the same time. He blinked and tried to remember the rest.   
  
"There's somethin' else..." He swallowed, throat dry and aching and foul with clovers. "Started having new dreams last night and get 'em whenever I fall asleep now." Fawkes hummed a note again and then a tear slid from it's eye onto his hand. "S'ok, Fawkes... I'm ok, don't cry." He mumbled to the bird, even though he did feel a bit better. He yawned. "Not like the nightmares... I 'ways end up with that offal taste in my mouth..." He yawned again, blinking to keep himself awake. "Don't know what they mean. The dreams, not the nightmares." He tried to stifle the next yawn, but wasn't entirely successful.  
  
"I...see. Setting the dreams aside for the moment, how often are you...made aware of Voldemort?"  
  
He opened his mouth to reply and yawned again. A flash of irritation at the repeated interruptions woke him up a bit and he answered somewhat coherently. "I get a dream a night, average... if I don't get one at night, I'll get hit whenever I relax." Another yawn overtook him. Fawkes slipped out from under his hand and Harry murmured something he thought might have been English, but probably wasn't.  
  
"Harry."  
  
He blinked, raising his eyes from the floor. "Ye-" His voice hitched and he yawned. "Sorry. Yes, Headmaster?"  
  
Dumbledore paused and said. "When was the last time you slept through the night?"  
  
Harry blinked, then tried to remember...certainly not this summer. He tried to stifle another yawn but had the feeling he'd failed. Probably...before the Third Task. "Before the end of term, I think."   
  
"The end of- idiot, why didn't you ask your family to take you to Diagon Alley for a Dreamless Sleep potion?"  
  
Sleepy and floating on indifference, Harry shrugged off the insults. "Don't like wizards much, do they?" Yawn. "'sides, don't think the visions from Voldemort count as dreams, and I got those often enough that it wouldn't have been worth the lies I'd've had to tell to get there." He curled up a bit, drawing his legs up into the chair and wrapping his arms loosely around them. He found a hint of lemon and wolfsbane lingering on his clothes and smiled slightly. He felt a touch to the top of his head and opened eyes he hadn't realized were closed to see Dumbledore nodding to Snape. The Headmaster turned, "Would you mind if professor Snape and I talked?"  
  
Harry shook his head and they moved to the other side of the room, voices low and indistinct. Nice. Harry felt himself drifting off to sleep.  
  
//A mirror was propped up in front of him, and he didn't want to look in it. He hadn't wanted to have any nightmares either. It looked like neither of his wishes would be granted. The image in the mirror was blurred and oily, but fading into focus.   
  
His reflection clarified, and Harry starred at himself. Then he felt a weight settle on his shoulders, though nothing showed in the mirror, and he turned his head carefully to see a snake of indeterminable species watching him.  
  
"Be careful Ssspeaker. Thisss iss a dangerousss game." The snake spoke in a dry, rustling sort of voice. It reminded him of secrets being told in study hall.   
  
He shook his head, hearing the words but taking a minute to understand them. 'I don't understand... Who are you?' He flicked his eyes to the mirror, but his reflection was still alone and now smirking arrogantly at him.  
  
"I have not been called by the living in agesss... You may call me...Weaver."  
  
'Weaver?'  
  
"Yessss..." Weaver rubbed against his cheek, much as Fawkes had done earlier with his hand, before unwinding from his neck and disappearing from his shoulder to appear on the floor, near the edge of the mirror. "I musst go, Sspeaker...I will find you when you have need. When you underssstand, you will know how to find me yoursself. Fare well, Sssssspeaker."   
  
He tried to call the snake, Weaver, back, but he couldn't move his mouth. His lips were curiously stuck together. The snake slithered into the mirror and he watched as his reflection stared at it warily before it faded. Then it looked back at him, behind him and smirked.   
  
Harry turned slowly, like he was wading through syrup, though he'd never felt this nauseated by molasses. There was a familiar drowning, sweet smell and he finished his turn.   
  
The walls were decorated with it, and he moaned in protest... There was a buzzing sound and the walls flooded freshly, the thick liquid flowing onto, covering a body. He scrambled forward and felt as if he were in slow motion as his movements dragged. He fell to his knees and pushed through the gold substance covering the body.  
  
'Oh, dear...now, how did you get here? It's much too early for you to be here...'  
  
He recognized the voice from the other dreams. 'Help me,' He managed to gasp out, before trying to clear the suffocating mix of sugar and decay.  
  
'Now why would I do that, brother? I'm Cain to your Able...be glad I enjoy the game.'  
  
He didn't reply, though dread curled tighter in his stomach. He couldn't breath, and he knew the person was alive... Eyes opening, impossibly, deep under the rotting, sticky substance proved him right. He could do nothing but sink his hands down, down, down and try to reach him, but he couldn't get far enough and then he lost his balance and fell into the smell. He was drowning in honey...//  
  
"For Merlin's sake, wake up!"  
  
Harry lurched up and away from the hand, falling when his knees buckled. He ignored the pain and fumbled with his sleeve. He had his wand out and pointed by the time his robes had settled. When he realized it was Snape, he groaned again and pulled his legs up to his chest and buried his head, fighting the urge to cry. He gulped air, the strange humor of the situation hitting him suddenly and he had to resist the urge to laugh. Hysteria wasn't on his list of things to do. He lifted his head from his knees and smiled weakly at Dumbledore before turning it on Snape. "We have to stop meeting like this." There was an odd ringing in his ears and a pressure behind his eyes. His hands felt sticky. 


End file.
